I'm Falling Apart
by themarchgirl
Summary: ..and I forgot how wonderful you are, and how I can't not love you, I can't.//For the creddiefans 'stay my baby' fanfic challenge.


_I haven't really been uploading fics here because I'm a bit more of an LJ girl, so if you'd like to read any more of my fics there's a link to my LJ at my profile. :) I'm hoping to upload a multi-chap fic I've been posting there, here, so watch out for that. :)_

_This is for the Stay My Baby Creddifans fanfic challenge. I hope you like it! Reviews are love._

* * *

He sighs.

He's sitting in the Groovy Smoothie, brow furrowed over a Blueberry Blitz.

He fingers his phone, typing a word, deleting another.

Her hurt face is burned onto his eyelids.

* * *

A few hours earlier he's grinning as Carly bickers with Spencer over his tie.

"Spencer, it's _fluorescent green_," Carly whines, tugging at the happily flashing garment.

"So? You're wearing orange nail varnish," he argues.

"It's not the same," Carly dismisses. "You're really going to meet a building contractor with this tie?"

"He'll be prepared for my...Spencer-ness," he tries.

"If you want to make a good impression, you've got to look smart," Carly lectures, smoothing the lapels of Spencer's dress jacket.

He gives in, and opts for a red one.

Carly flops down next to him and smiles at him for a moment.

It makes him uncomfortable, and it's not in the stomach-flip, heart-flutter way as it used to be.

He clears his throat and uneasily returns it.

She fiddles with her hair and leans forward a little.

"Do you want some help with the server stuff?" she asks, hope in her widened brown eyes.

"Uh, sure," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. She looks delighted and beams at him, then gets up and leads him upstairs.

* * *

She listens with rapture.

He teaches her and she absorbs every single syllable, nodding.

He's tired of the sound of his own voice, but she seems to want more.

She's never acted like this before and it's weird.

When he goes home in the afternoon he's already texting the girl he flirted with at the grocery store whilst running errands for his mom.

He doesn't notice her bite her lip and twine her fingers, but he does notice her moving closer and hugging him for a second.

He doesn't respond, only staring down at her head for a second and blinking at her when she pulls back.

Something like pain fills her pupils and he feels a rush of guilt, but bids her goodbye and leaves.

He looks at the text, remembers the pain in her eyes, and shoves his phone into his pocket.

* * *

"Dude, you want a ham?"

He looks up at T-Bo, who is waving a stick inserted into three large hams, and grinning.

"Oh, uh, no thanks," he answers distractedly.

"Everything OK?" the man asks, slipping into a seat next to him. "You got women trouble?"

"Well, sort of. Actually, yeah," Freddie decides, putting his smoothie to the side. "What do you do if you used to be in love with a girl, but you're not anymore, and she kind of seems to like you?"

"Was she special then? When you loved her?"

"Yeah," Freddie says.

"Well maybe she's still special now," T-Bo says wisely, getting up. "You sure you don't want a ham?"

Freddie smiles. "I'm OK, but thanks."

The man with dreadlocks nods and walks away, swinging his stick of hams.

* * *

The thing is, she isn't _very_ special.

She's his best friend, a person to go to in times of need or joy or any time, really.

She's more special than the girls he hits on and dates for a couple of months, but not by much.

He finds himself texting that girl again, offering her a smoothie and a good time. She accepts immediately, and he's all set for next Friday night.

Freddie whistles on the way to Carly's apartment, in a good mood for rehearsal. She opens the door with that same smile, and his happiness falters slightly.

"Hi, Freddie," she says brightly. "You're early."

"I have some stuff I need to change on the server," he replies, nervously stuffing his hands into his pockets. She nods.

"Oh yeah, movie night next Friday!" she cries. "I was thinking of watching something scary, but I don't know, I always get nightmares afterwards-"

"Next Friday?" he interrupts.

"Yeah," Carly says. "Remember, we've had it planned for two weeks."

"I don't think I can make it," he admits, pulling at the cables in his pocket.

"Why not?"

"I've got a thing," he mumbles.

He tries to ignore the hurt that flashes in her eyes before her question. "Since when?"

"Well, this morning. My mom told me about the...thing..."

Her shoulders sag, and the excitement in her expression fades like a light that's moving away from him.

"Oh," she says quietly, turning away. "Oh, I see."

One of those sickly ripples of guilt passes through him, and he swallows.

"I would definitely come but I've got...."

"Your thing," she finishes, looking at him again with an extremely forced smile on her face and eyes that looked far too watery. She fumbles for her phone a little frantically, her breathing odd.

He almost reaches out his hand, to touch her, or something, something to make it better, and he hasn't felt this sensitive in a year.

"Well, Sam says she's going to be stuck in detention," she says, her voice too high and airy. "You might as well go home."

He wavers for a moment, still stuck in this place where need to comfort and fix conquers every other feeling.

"Yeah, OK. I'll see you tomorrow?" he says finally. She nods, her awful forced smile stuck to her features.

He escapes, but not before he hears her start to cry.

* * *

He's changed.

He knows he has.

It's like when he gave up and moved on from her he lost that piece of him that was sweet and kind and treated girls like they were precious gifts.

And now he smirks and flirts and leaves a trail of swooning girls behind him as he walks.

Maybe she made him someone more wholesome, but that hardly matters now.

* * *

School is hard.

She won't look at him, or speak to him very much, or smile, or raise her gaze from the dingy, grey floor.

He finds himself on the receiving end of silence from her and glares from Sam.

Freddie buries himself in homework and his computers, researching new software and furiously scratching numbers and words into his books with countless pens. He eats little, always hungry, but never wanting to eat.

The girl is called Tracy, and she is slender and brunette and pretty, and chews bubblegum, and she curses like a sailor.

She winks at him when he sees her on Tuesday, sidling up to him and clenching her fingers around the fabric of his shirt.

"Looking forward to Friday," she says huskily, not chewing gum this time. "I think we'll have fun."

He smirks back, feeling a little more alive than he has since Saturday.

"I agree," he replies. "I always have fun when I'm accompanied by a beautiful girl like you."

She does not speak, only watching him with dark, wide eyes. He winks at her this time and carries on his way.

* * *

iCarly is disastrous.

Carly is monotonous, Sam bitter, and they lose half their viewers after five minutes.

They give up, Sam breaking in after a dull Messing With Lewbert and telling the audience they'll be back next week. Freddie complies instantly and switches off the camera, not needing to inform them they were clear.

Carly slouches, going back to the fraying hems of her sleeves. Freddie shuts his laptop, and Sam stands between them, for once the mediator.

"Guys?" she asks quietly. "Should we get a smoothie?"

Carly shakes her head, offering her best friend a sad smile. "I'm tired, I'm going to bed."

Sam nods and hugs her.

He watches them for a minute and then exhales a little too loudly. They break apart, and Sam looks at him.

"What's the matter?" she demands cruelly.

"Nothing," he replies. "I just breathed."

She is about to respond when his phone vibrates with an alarm.

She was always too quick for him, and is able to snatch it from his weak grasp before he can hide it.

"Date, with Tracy," she reads loudly, and then she _glares_ at him, furious, seething, outraged.

But he isn't looking at her.

Carly is meeting his eyes for the first time in almost a week.

Her eyes are clouded over with the most hurt and pain he's seen in his whole life.

"You fucking bastard," Sam hisses.

Carly's shaking now, tears rolling down her cheeks. He fights that familiar urge to reach out and touch her and fix her because he knows it's his fault, all his fault...

"I – I," he stammers. "I – I don't – I'm _sorry_-"

She lets out a little cry and crumples in front of him, sobbing into her hands. His feet are making their way across the floor, but before he's halfway to her he's thrown backwards with a brutal punch to his gut, winding him and sending him to the floorboards, groaning.

His head spins as he breathes in insufficient air, and through his hazy vision he sees Sam wrapping Carly in her arms, like a mother comforting a distraught, nightmare-wracked child.

He manages to sit up. He ignores his screaming stomach muscles and stares at the two girls, filled to the brim with self-hatred and guilt and utter pain.

Sam sends him another look that tells him to get out, now. He scrambles to his feet, knowing that if looks could kill he'd have been buried about a hundred times by now, brought back to life every single time so she could kill him again.

He looks at Carly one last time, something in his heart exploding with agony as she weeps hysterically into Sam's shoulder.

He did this.

He broke her heart.

And he does what he normally does when things go wrong nowadays; he runs away.

* * *

He ends up at Gibby's house.

His less recent friend listens curiously as he rants to him, occasionally sipping some water or scratching an itch.

When he's relayed his entire story, Gibby sits next to him and slings a chubby, shirtless arm round his shoulders.

"Freddie, you're my friend, and I say this because I care. You are an utter moron."

"I am the hugest moron in the history of all living things," Freddie replies sadly. "I can't believe I treated her that way."

"I always thought you were better than that," Gibby says. "I never knew you could be so stupid."

"When I loved her and she didn't love me she handled it a lot better," Freddie sighs. "She was honest with me, and she didn't push me away. She never lied to me."

"You are an _idiot_," Gibby agrees. "Sorry, I shouldn't be making you feel worse."

"Thanks, Gibby, but I deserve it," Freddie assures him quietly. "I deserve to be handed a hungry, angry Sam on a plate."

Gibby seems torn between agreeing for his sake and disagreeing for, well, his sake.

"Maybe just an angry Sam," he answers. "The double whammy would kill you."

Freddie smiles wryly. "I deserve that too."

The two boys go silent.

Freddie suddenly feels burning behind his eyes, and it's weird because it's been at least half an hour since he left the Shays' loft, and so he surely would have cried before then if he was going to cry.

But sure enough, he's suddenly overwhelmed with wetness in his eyes and on his face and he's breathing strangely and unevenly.

He's mildly aware of Gibby hugging him, soothing him, but there's an odd bubble around him where voices are muffled and everything slows down and it's hard to breathe.

He hears a strange noise that matches his breathing, something like a low moan every time he breathes out.

Then he realises it's him, and it gets louder.

He's lost her.

He's lost her, and he made it this way.

* * *

When he leaves Gibby's house he hasn't completely composed himself; tears are still sliding from his eyes.

Gibby hugs him again before he goes, telling him everything will be all right, it'll get fixed.

Freddie doesn't quite believe him, but nods as he raises a hand in farewell.

He walks home, texting his mom on the way and telling her he's on his way back from a friend's house. He takes a shortcut through the park, wiping his nose and his eyes to no avail.

The tears do not stop.

* * *

It starts to rain.

He shivers in his thin shirt, his hands finding safety in his pockets again. He trudges onwards, his breath still hitching forcefully in his throat. The damp sputtering of the rain turns to torrential quickly – this is Seattle, after all.

He doesn't notice as he becomes drenched from head to toe. He ignores the fact that he's freezing cold.

He broke her heart, that's all that spins round his head, repeats hundreds of times over in his mind.

_You broke her heart you broke her heart you you you you youbrokeherheartbrokeherhearthurtherhurthermadehercrymadeherweep..._

He lets out a loud sob and stumbles, falling to the ground.

His side is covered in mud and his hair will never look the same again but why does his condition matter? Why is he so important when she's at home crying, suffering, all because of...

Him.

* * *

After a while he notices someone in the distance.

He kneels, squinting through the sheet of rain in front of him.

It's Carly, and she's dancing.

He hurries to his feet and sprints towards her, yelling her name.

She spins on the spot, arms outstretched, eyes opening slowly.

"You," she murmurs, and he barely hears her. She doesn't sound angry, only sad.

"I'm such an idiot," he sobs. "I'm such a moron; I can't believe I did that, Carly."

She merely blinks, sighing, and then she twirls again.

What's wrong with her? She's in a daze, a trance, her eyes are unfocused, unseeing...

He spots her bag a few feet away, soaked through.

He doesn't see the ruined folders and the weeping inks on her bag.

He doesn't see her damaged phone and soggy purse.

He sees the water bottle and the empty bottle of prescription pills.

"No," he breathes. "No, no, no, no...."

She laughs then, eyes shining and her mouth catching the rain.

"It's funny," she says. "It's ironic. You used to love me, and I didn't, and now I love you and you don't."

"Carly," he chokes. "Please, tell me you didn't."

"Did I make you mad, when I tried to make you love me?" She asks, eyes wide and innocent.

"No, no, you didn't," he replies frantically. "Carly, we need to get you to a hospital, right now."

"I didn't mean to be a nuisance," she murmurs.

"You weren't," he says, his tears mixing with the rain. "You were never a nuisance. I was such an idiot for making you feel like that."

"Why did you lie to me?" she asks.

"Because I'm the biggest jerk in the universe!" He yells. "Because I was stupid, and selfish, and I forgot how wonderful you are, and that I can't not love you, I can't."

She touches his face. "Freddie, I can't feel anything."

"What?"

"I'm all numb," she says, her expression completely blank, as if there's nothing wrong and she's informing him of the weather tomorrow. "The pain went away."

He lurches into overdrive, picking her up and sprinting home.

There's a high-pitched alarm whining loudly in his brain, and he repeats a mantra of profanities over and over again, often directed towards himself.

All he knows is that he needs to get help, and he realised a lot of things this night.

* * *

If anyone asks him about what happened that night, he can never give them a straight answer, really.

He vaguely remembers shaking her desperately when she went limp in his arms.

He sort of recalls refusing to let go of her body when the doctors tried to pry his arms away from her.

But he remembers clearly the doctors telling her she'd be OK, that she was lucky to survive, that it was such a miracle.

It turns out it was Spencer's mostly finished bottle of strong aspirin, thankfully, because an entire bottle of prescription pills would have certainly killed her, no question.

It was still a quadruple dose that she took, however, and it was incredibly dangerous.

Freddie stays by her side the entire length of her four-day coma, squeezing her hand every five minutes and talking to her.

He pours everything out; about how he changed and never really felt anything with the numerous girls he dated, how he felt better about himself as a mature, good person when he was in love with her, how he misses her, how he panicked, how he still mentally beats himself up about his actions towards her, and how sorry he is.

When her eyes blearily open, the first thing she sees is his deliriously happy face, and the first thing she feels is a squeeze of her hand.


End file.
